


The Poet Sings

by endingscene



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - X-Men Fusion, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, Lesbian Natasha Romanov, M/M, Mutual Pining, Protective T'Challa (Marvel), Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Touch-Starved, more character tags will be added in future chapters btw, neither of them were right in civil war and i should say it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-02-13 12:57:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21494677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endingscene/pseuds/endingscene
Summary: What would happen if things went differently in Infinity War? If everyone was just a little bit smarter and a little less straight...would things have worked out differently? Would they be able to change their fates?
Relationships: Aneka/Ayo (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Nakia (Black Panther)/T'Challa
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	1. . author's note

Hey, everyone!

I have a couple of things to say. First of all, a huge thank-you to thegryffindorllama on Quotev for making the cover for this. It turned out beautiful, thank you some much!

Secondly, I know the decision to discontinue If Only is going to disappoint a lot of people. I explained my reasoning a little bit better there, but I just wanted to say thank you again to everyone who stuck through with me on that, and who watched me grow as a writer through it. But it's time to move on, which is why I'm starting this now.

And finally, if you're new to my AO3 or Quotev, depending on where you're reading this, thanks for checking out my page, and if you want to check out my old fic, If Only, for 50,000 words of stupidity and just a good, stupid, old-fashioned fix-it fic, you should do that. Thanks!


	2. . now playing >> rain : taeyeon

Steve hated running.

Not physical running. Physical running was perfectly fine. In fact, he enjoyed it. He never used to be able to run because of his asthma, so it was liberating to just be unhinged, only held down by the force of gravity and the muscles in his legs. He loved the feeling of the wind on his face, and he loved being pleasantly surprised when he half-expected to start coughing and choking and didn't. He would gladly welcome running now, even if he was still 5 foot 5 and would become breathless after only a few seconds. The running he was doing was much worse.

Oh, how he longed for his lungs to burn and his mouth to taste like blood. He missed the feeling of the muscles in his legs tensing and moving, his arms perfectly in sync with his heart, his legs, his core, and his lungs. They all referred to what they were doing as "running," but they all knew it was as far away from that as possible. They were just sort of drifting, with no home, not even a country that would welcome them. 

Steve didn't hate many things, but he hated this.

That's what Steve was thinking as they trudged through the Ethiopian rainforests, as the hot rain poured down his face and body, mixing with his sweat and plastering his hair and beard to his face. How long had it last been since he had shaved? He couldn't recall. He ran a hand through his hair, clutched his things as to try to not get them wet, and tried to ignore how hot and miserable he was. 

"Look, I'm just going to say it," Natasha said. She kept running her hands through her hair. She never said it, but Steve knew she missed her old hair. It was such a stupid thing to miss, since they had all sacrificed so much to be on the run like this, and hair was the least of her problems, but he knew it meant a lot to Nat. "This sucks."

"Thanks for that," Sam groaned. Out of all of them, he was the one that looked the most put together. His beard was neatly shaved and styled, and his hair was short enough that it wouldn't really get wet. He wore his Falcon suit under a worn denim jacket and cargo pants. Steve didn't envy him. The rain was nearly boiling, and it was awfully humid. Sam must've been insanely hot. Nonetheless, he knew that Sam didn't like taking the Falcon suit off. It would've been like taking off a part of him, and whatever remained of the Avengers. "We didn't know that already."

"Guys, this isn't the time," Steve said, but even he didn't mean it. It was true. It sucked. Every few seconds, he had to stop and yank his feet out of the mud. It didn't even matter, since he was already covered with it. All of them were. And even worse, they were all covered in mosquito bites. "And you know what? I've heard that mud helps with the itching of the mosquito bites."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind when I get malaria," Sam replied hotly. "How much longer until we get to Wakanda?"

"For the last time, I don't know. We just walk until T'Challa notices and tries to come kill us. Then, he'll let us in," Steve grumbled. He knew Sam was exasperated. They all were. But Steve had a good motive. I mean, yes, it would be nice to shower and sleep in a comfortable bed for a few days, but Steve didn't care about that. Steve just wanted to see him.

Shuri had decided to unfreeze Bucky two months ago. Steve wanted to leave as soon as she told him, but she insisted to wait a few weeks for him to regain full motion and most of his memories. So, they had left Algeria only a couple weeks ago, hitchhiking, biking, walking, busing, and doing whatever they could to get to Wakanda.

Steve felt extremely guilty. He knew that not only was it his fault that they were in this situation in the first place, but also, he knew that Sam and Natasha were miserable while they were traveling. He never planned to have to walk through all this wilderness. Guess he didn't know as much about Ethiopia as he thought he did. Nonetheless, he knew that they were all anxious to get to Wakanda. They all just wanted to sleep peacefully, even just for one night.

"God, I hope we get there soon. I'm sick of white people," Sam said.

"Sam, we're in Africa."

"Yeah, which is why it sucks that I'm stuck with two white idiots who think mayonnaise counts as seasoning!"

"It is!"

"It's a condiment, for fuck's sake, not seasoning, get it right!"

"Shutty!" Nat hissed. "I hear something!"

"It's rain, you dumb slut. That's what you hear," Sam replied.

"Oh my God, what if it's a tiger!?" Steve asked nervously.

"I hope a tiger eats you!" Sam whined.

"I'd look up if tigers live in Ethiopia, but we can't use Google because of your stupid ass!"

"Yeah, well, you're welcome to go crying back to Tony's if you want!" Steve shouted. They all fell silent. They hadn't spoken about Tony since before the incident happened. Steve's chest rose and fell quickly and angrily. Natasha pursed her lips, eyebrows furrowed in anger. Sam stopped, jaw dropped in shock. Steve looked down.

"I'm sorry."

"We know. Now, shut your goddamn mouth and listen." Nat sniffed the air, which probably didn't help anything. Sure enough, they heard a rustle in the trees. The rain mostly covered it up, but these paranoid bitches could definitely hear it. Nat quietly clicked her widow bites. Steve cocked a gun at his side, and Sam unsheathed his wings with a clink. The three pressed their backs against each other and aimed their respective weapons into the trees.

There was a sigh from Nat's side. "You know, we really need to find a better way of communicating."

Steve exhaled deeply. "T'Challa."

T'Challa jumped out of the branches and onto the ground, taking off his helmet and giving Steve a hug. Steve couldn't help but collapse into his arms. T'Challa pat his back reassuringly. "I take it has not been easy for you."

"It's fine," Steve said, sniffling slightly, blinking quickly to try to hide the fact that he was tearing up a little. T'Challa seemed to notice, but all of them pretended it wasn't happening.

T'Challa sighed. "You could stay here if you wanted, you know. You'd be safe. You could stop running."

"I couldn't do that to you," Steve said. It was true. He felt guilty for treating T'Challa like this. T'Challa gave him everything he needed, but he had nothing to give in return. "We have nothing to offer you."

"Yes, you do. Your presence. Your skills. Wakanda could use you," T'Challa said. 

Steve only shrugged slightly. T'Challa shook his head, knowing he wouldn't accept his offer. "Come. Barnes has been waiting for quite some time to see you."

T'Challa walked in front of them, helmet on, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. The rain slid off his suit easily, but it kept soaking into Steve's. He couldn't wait to dry it. Nat crossed her arms, trying to move her hair out her face.

They walked for a couple minutes more, this time in silence. Steve's feet had blistered somewhere in Libya, then calloused, then blistered again, and that was with his supersoldier DNA. He couldn't imagine the kind of pain Sam and Natasha were in. He felt so guilty, but he felt even worse just using up T'Challa's resources. 

Finally, they approached the Wakandan border. T'Challa tapped a few beads on his wrist and allowed them to pass through. 

Fortunately, they weren't war criminals here.

Unfortunately, it was still raining.

"Sam, Natasha. I'll bring you to the palace. I think it'd be best to give Steve and Bucky some privacy" T'Challa said, leading them away.

"Wait!" Steve called. T'Challa stopped. Steve hesitated. "I just...I don't want to see him like this."

T'Challa nodded. "You can shower and get some fresh clothes."

"And shave," he added.

"Oh, absolutely not. By Jesus, you will not, should not, and must not shave your beard. It looks hot as shit and if you wanna get any type of ass, you will keep it!" Sam ordered. Steve nodded meekly.

T'Challa's palace was meticulously clean but seemingly effortless. His walls were adorned tastefully with gorgeous Wakandan art. Steve felt safe as T'Challa showed him to one of the many suited of the palace. Steve and T'Challa stood in silence for a few moments inside. Steve was forever in debt to this man, and unsure of how to pay it off. He hated the feeling of guilt because it just felt so goddamn familiar.

"Can I at least give you a hug?" Steve asked.

T'Challa gave him a friendly yet stern smile. "Shower. Then maybe."

Steve did exactly that, and he had to admit, it did feel pretty nice to shampoo his hair and not use water that dried out his palms and roughened his hair and face. Weeks worth of grime finally went down the drain. Being on the run made him, unfortunately, shower much less than he would like.

Some of the palace employees had taken his suit to mend and wash and dry, so he was left with some new undergarments and somewhat traditional Wakandan clothes. He did expect to work and help around, so he assumed that T'Challa hadn't given him a rather unconventional robe. He was right. But he was still quite pleased to see loose white pants and a thin purple button-down robe, that was just short enough to wear as a shirt but long enough to leave left open if he wanted to.

After brushing his hair and putting on some simple sandals, Steve set out to explore the palace. His hands felt shaky in his pockets. He wasn't sure why he was avoiding Bucky, because for months, he had thought of nearly nothing but him. God, he missed him so much. Everything about him, from the way his lips curved up when he smiled to the clicking of his metal arm.

"Captain!" A young girl approached him in the hallway, with a wide, gap-toothed smile, and box braids coming down to her waist. Steve wondered if that was her real hair. He also wondered if that would be inappropriate to ask.

She held out her hand to shake it. "We haven't officially met yet. I'm Shuri, T'Challa's younger sister. I fixed up your boyfriend."

Steve sighed, wanting to correct Shuri, but not having enough energy to do so. "Nice to meet you. I'm sure you already know me. Thank you."

"Oh, you have nothing to thank me for. It was fun. It's definitely a step up from just working on aqueducts, you know?" She laughed. Her voice was tinny and girlish, and wildly innocent. Steve felt old and worn next to her, but he didn't say it. He was too busy tapping his foot anxiously. In fact, he didn't say anything.

Shuri cleared her throat. "Anyway, I wanted to give you your beads. This one is for communication, this one's for access, this one is identification, and this one is for any other functions. You know, camera, flashlight, Instagram, et cetera. Got it?"

Steve nodded. "Anything else I should know?"

Shuri's face lit up. "Yes! Okay, so down the hall that way is Okoye's room. Don't go in there unless you wanna get impaled with a spear. Over there is Nakia's room. Don't go there either unless you wanna get punched in the face. Um, try to stay out of the mines and gardens and stuff? And in a few days, T'Challa's traveling to New York. I think he wanted to tell you himself, but I think he wanted you to come."

He frowned. "Why?"

"Well it's just...you and your gang of vigilantes is costing us a pretty penny to keep funding and covering up. We think..." Shuri sighed. "We want to work out the legal issues with the Sokovia Accords. Keep you guys out of prison and grant you guys sanctuary in more than just Wakanda and Yemen."

Steve's heart dropped. "Wait, so..."

"I know seeing Tony isn't ideal for you, but I know you feel guilty about using our resources. This is how you can pay us back. Just one meeting. That's all we ask right now," Shuri said. Did everyone just know about his business now?

Steve sighed. "I don't want to seem unenthusiastic. Believe me, it's not ideal to be running from the law like this. But it's just..." Steve shook his head. "You know what? That's a little personal. You're not my therapist. Yes, of course. Anything to pay you guys back."

Shuri nodded. "You'll have a few days to process it. And Bucky's hut is that way. Your beads will direct you."

Steve wandered outside, rather aimlessly. He yearned for Bucky, to see him, to hug him, but he couldn't bring himself to hurry to see him. He felt dirty, as if someone had dipped him in oil and not washed it off. Despite having just showered, he kept wiping his hands on his pants, as if it did anything to stop the feeling from going away. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he felt deep in his heart that it was familiar.

It had stopped raining, leaving the polished stone pathways slick and shiny with rain. Soon after leaving the palace, the stone turned to muddy dirt roads, until finally, there weren't any at all, just tall grass, and a hut in the distance.

Steve slowed down, looking down and paying close attention to the wet grass flecking up against his calves, dampening his pants slightly. He heard faint singing coming from the hut, which made his lips curve up slightly. He never knew that Bucky could sing.

Finally, he approached the entrance of the hut. The singing got louder. He vaguely realized that it wasn't in English, but he wasn't sure what other language it could be. It wasn't rough and aggressive, like the Russian he knew Bucky spoke, and it wasn't the clean-cut Xhosa that he had been learning more and more of. He decided not to ask.

He knocked on the door of the hut. "Buck?"

The singing stopped. Steve almost didn't recognize the man that walked out of the small kitchen. His face was vaguely reminiscent of the Bucky that danced around in his memories. He had the same features, yes, the same small nose and thin, long lips. He had the same piercing eyes and dark eyebrows. But he didn't have the same carelessness of the Bucky in his memories, nor the painful brokenness of the Bucky he had seen on the bridge. He seemed...peaceful. Not yet healed, no, but rather, accepting. He wore traditional Wakandan clothes, a long deep red robe, and a blue scarf draped around his shoulder, his long hair put up in a half-bun.

Steve had been both dreading to see Bucky and couldn't wait to see him at the same time, but every prior feeling he had disappeared as he wrapped Bucky in his arms. Steve was taller than him now, so Bucky's head fit perfectly in the crook of his neck. At that moment, Steve's surroundings seemed to fade out into white. The only thing that mattered was in his arms right now.

But like all moments, this one ended just as fast as it started.

Bucky looked down, clearly embarrassed by his singing. "It's, uh...good to see you."

Steve nodded. "I didn't know you sang."

"I didn't really know either, to be honest." Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. "It's in Korean, if you were wondering. The language I was singing in."

"You speak Korean?"

"I lived in Busan for a couple months."

"Oh. I'm trying to learn Xhosa."

"Any luck?"

"No, not really, I suck."

Both of them seemed to understand all the unspoken emotions that lingered in the space between them, on the tips of their tongue and right on the end of their lips. 

"T'Challa was talking about a peace treaty with your friends." Bucky looked down. 

"I know. I think it's for the best. I just don't want to see them very much." Steve felt much too exposed, both physically and emotionally. He tried to convince himself that he could trust Bucky, but he hadn't told anyone that. Not Natasha, not Sam, and certainly not T'Challa. The thin robe wasn't helping, either. He knew what his body looked like. His body was never thin, at least not since being serumed, but it had changed. Since going on the run, his body weight and structure had fluctuated. First, he lost muscle mass from not eating as much as he should. Then he gained it back with exercise. He lost it again due to exhaustion and gained it back because of poor eating habits. Right now, he was buff, but he knew it wouldn't last. Not only that, but his chest was covered in injuries that the suit hid. There was still a scar on his right pectoral from 1942, when he got shot at a HYDRA facility. His ribs were black and bruised from a broken rib in Uzbekistan that was never set properly to heal, and worst of all, there was still a faint spot of red and faded yellow on his chest, from the fight in Siberia. Bucky understood but said nothing. Being a supersoldier didn't fix everything.

Not the way he looked at Bucky.

”It’s my fault. I should go.”

”No, no, it’s just...” Steve sighed. “I don’t wanna talk about it right now. I’m just tired.”

Bucky nodded, stepping outside to examine the weather. “It’s raining. You can stay here. If you want, that is.”

”I should really get going. I...I missed you.”

Bucky fell back into Steve’s arms. Steve closed his eyes, resting his head against Bucky’s and running his hands through Bucky’s hair. It felt comforting and familiar, but it still felt wrong. Not in the same way that walking into a battle knowing he was being tricked felt wrong, but in the way that he wanted to crawl out of his skin, like he shouldn't be there. He couldn't put his finger on why, though.

"I'll be with my goats tomorrow. Maybe you can come help me with them?" Bucky asked.

"Wait, you have goats?"

"Shut up! Just...be there, okay?"

"I will," Steve said, finally separating and walking out into the rain.


	3. . now playing >> across the universe : baek yerin

Steve still awoke feeling strange. His anxiety woke him up first, making him extremely aware that he was not in his bed, or any bed, in fact. He never really liked luxurious beds like the ones in Wakanda, or even the ones in the Avengers compound. Like Sam had said all those years ago, they were much too soft. Besides, the sofa in his room was pretty nice, too, and Steve's body always ran warm after the serum. He was just glad to not sleep in a place with bedbugs.

But alas, the anxiety was fairly normal, if he was honest. Bruce, Tony, Natasha, Sharon, Sam, Peggy, and T'Challa had all suggested going to a therapist, in that order, and Steve saw the reason behind it. He had only gone once, with a tight-lipped blonde woman who told him to straighten his back and offered him a butterscotch candy. He did neither and didn't go back, despite Sam saying that one bad therapist didn't mean therapy was bad. He was fairly used to the anxiety, although it didn't make it any more bearable. Just expected.

Still, it wasn't the anxiety that got him feeling odd. It was more of the fact that he had never prepared to be in this scenario.

Steve didn't expect to live past twelve when he was a kid. Then, twenty. And then, when he was serumed, he expected to die on the battlefield, which...sort of happened. After getting serumed, he had given his future a good amount of thought. He knew Bucky wouldn't be there forever, and if he ended up marrying Peggy, she wouldn't be there either. He hoped to have kids someday, but that seemed like a pretty distant future, especially for a superhero who had gotten kicked and thrown around so much that he wasn't sure if he was even still able to have kids. Before Bucky fell, he thought it would be nice to retire somewhere quiet once Bucky and Peggy were gone. He would've liked to live out the rest of his days in peace, painting and maybe having his children and grandchildren and likely, great-grandchildren visit him sometimes.

Clearly, that was not what happened. Bucky was still here, and Yahoo answers was relatively unhelpful when it came to advice on how to talk to former brainwashed assassins. 

Still, Steve put it out of his mind and instead got up to do something productive. He was slightly startled when one of his beads on his wrist that Shuri had given him buzzed. 

Incoming call from Okoye. The cool female voice on his beads said in Xhosa first, then English. Steve fumbled around slightly, buttoning up his purple robe and answering it. He faintly recalled the muscular woman who glared at him every time he and T'Challa spoke. Sure enough, she was on the other side of the call. She looked unhappy, but then again, Steve had no clue how to read her.

"Hello, Mr. Rogers. It's General Okoye." 

"It's actually Captain Rogers," Steve corrected her.

"Are you part of the Dora Milaje?"

"No."

"Are you in Wakanda's military force?"

"No?"

"Has the King awarded you a special position?"

"No?? But-"

"Then silence, Mr. Rogers."

"Was there a point to this call?"

"Yes. I would like to meet with you to discuss the peace treaty that King T'Challa will be negotiating with Tony Stark and the U.N."

"Like, for coffee?"

"Yes. Noon. Aneka and Ayo will escort you there."

"That's fine, I can get there myself-"

Okoye glared harder. "I said, Aneka and Ayo will escort you there."

"Okay."

Steve glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was only five in the morning. Guess he couldn't turn off his internal alarm clock. 

Sighing and sitting up, he unbuttoned the purple robe once more and completely took it off, debating on whether to go for a run shirtless. Even while standing in front of Bucky, showing his injuries like that just made him feel...naked, even though he was only partially naked. He was supposed to be the untouchable superhero, the Superman character that could never fall or get hurt or be weak. And he decided that it would be wildly inappropriate to ask T'Challa for some concealer at five in the morning. 

In the closet in his room, he found a decent amount of clothes. Granted, they weren't really his style, but they were comfortable and in his size, and he wasn't in a position to be picky right now, so he simply just put on a pair of loose blue pants—not sweatpants, nor jeans, nor slacks, but more like light cargo pants—and a simple white shirt. After some consideration, he added a red and blue robe, similar to the purple one he had just taken off, after deciding that he looked like a white boy. And yeah, he was a white boy, but he got what Sam meant when he said that sometimes, things were just too white. 

Trying his best to be quiet, he snuck out of his room and made his way out of the palace. Only a few guards glared at him. He silently congratulated himself for making it out with no one noticing.

"Rogers?"

Fuck.

Steve sighed, putting on his polite face and turning around. "Yes?"

"What are you doing out here at five in the morning?" Steve recognized the woman in front of him as Nakia, T'Challa's girlfriend and suspected fiancee, but T'Challa was quite private when it came to his love life, and either way, Wakandan marriage traditions were far from Western ones, and Steve wasn't about to ask her. 

"I could ask the same of you."

Steve was really not in the mood for talking. If he was honest, he never really was. But he was a guest in what was basically Nakia’s country, and he didn’t want to be rude.

“I just woke up at 5. Thought I’d go for a run,” he replied.

Nakia turned to her beads. “Set a reminder for six to teach Rogers about Wakandan fashion.” She turned back to him. “Don’t take this the wrong way. But what you’re wearing is definitely not meant for running. It’s like you went outside in half lingerie and half a tuxedo. Those pants and that jacket are quite formal but the shirt is generally worn as an undergarment.”

Steve looked down. “Oh. Well, what do you wear for working out?”

“Generally? Sweatpants. I personally like Nike, but Shuri likes Adidas. I’ll tell T’Challa to get you some actual workout clothes.”

“Thanks. Uh…” Steve gestured to his clothes. “Will anyone notice?”

“Nah, you’re white. They’ll understand. Just avoid eating mayonnaise, because then, you really might be tackled.”

Steve nodded and lightly saluted at Nakia before bolting in the other direction. Hopefully, no one would be awake right now. He knew from personal experience that Bucky was a night owl, and definitely not a morning person. He used to always pick up extra shifts at work, come home late, and wake up late, long after Steve had gotten up and gone to work. Unless he had radically changed, Steve assumed that he wouldn’t be up.

Which is why he was shocked to see him standing outside his hut, tending to his goats. Steve slowed down. Bucky spotted him and immediately started laughing.

“What?!” Steve demanded.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Nakia already gave me the talk. But I’m not going back to change. Why are you up so early?”

Bucky gestured to his goats. “They have to eat.”

"Oh. That'll do it."

"You want some clothes? I feel actual secondhand embarrassment for you. Come inside. I'll get you something to wear."

It was strange, how Bucky was standing right there and Steve somehow still missed him. He wanted to just wrap him into his arms and crawl into his skin. Macabre, but Steve didn't know what other way to phrase it. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't want to say it. He just hoped that reading him and his body language was still ingrained in the back of Bucky's mind.

Steve followed Bucky inside his hut. It smelled almost of purely him, with just a hint of air freshener and dewy grass. Bucky retreated into his closet, then coming out with some fresh clothes. He pat Steve on the back and left him in the hut to go feed his goats outside.

Steve stripped quickly, then dressed even faster. Bucky's clothes were a little tight on him, but they fit fine. The Adidas sweatpants fit okay, they were a little shorter than he would've liked, but he wasn't in a position to complain. As for the Captain America T-Shirt, well, it was super tight and a little embarrassing, but it was better than wearing Wakandan lingerie out.

When he walked outside, the grass was still damp from a combination of dew and the rain from yesterday. He wanted to walk up to Bucky and wrap him in a hug and stay there forever, but as he saw Bucky playing with his goats, sitting down in the tall grass and smiling—for real—Steve decided not to intervene.

”Hey!” He called. “Thanks for the clothes! I’ll stop by to give them back later!”

Bucky nodded, waving and going back to petting his goat.

Steve mindlessly ran around the outskirts of town. He quite enjoyed the feeling of just running around for the fun of it, not because he had to, although he couldn't get his mind off everything that was going on. His thoughts simply kept drifting back to Bucky and Okoye and Tony. None of his options were good, but he only had two, and he was going to have to choose.

He must've lost track of time as he was running. Normally, he just ran until he got tired, which, with him, could've been hours. In this case, it was. He only realized how late it was when his beads buzzed, alerting him that he had to meet with Okoye for coffee in less than an hour.

Nearly sprinting back to the palace, he showered and got dressed, this time, asking his beads on what to wear, and ending up in some simple dark pants and simply patterned white blouse, with a colorful red, yellow, blue, and green cloth draped over his shoulders in a poncho-like style. Just as the clock struck noon, Steve heard a sharp knock on his door.

"Aneka and Ayo?" 

The women were both tall and muscular, with bulging muscles in places that even he, Steve Rogers, Captain freaking America, didn't know where possible to have. Both of them wore the red Dora Milaje outfits, and their shaved heads were covered in tattoos. Unlike Okoye, both of them had some on their faces. He wanted to ask what they meant, but he didn't think they'd appreciate it very much.

Aneka, the taller one nodded stiffly. Steve forced a weak smile, but focused on following the two out of the palace. They walked him in the opposite direction of Bucky's hut, right in the center of the city. It was rather quiet. He assumed most people were eating lunch. Or maybe it was just a bad neighborhood. Although, he didn't think there were many, if any, bad neighborhoods in Wakanda.

Okoye was sitting at a table outside of what resembled a Wakandan Starbucks. Of course, it wasn't actually Starbucks, but it was a low-roofed, friendly-looking wooden building that seemed to be selling coffee, even though Steve couldn't actually read Xhosa. Still, Steve wasn't a huge fan of coffee. He never drank it before he was frozen. Coffee back then was expensive, and during the war, it became basically just bitter tap water, since the rations were so small.

Okoye sat like a soldier, back completely straight, legs uncrossed and looking dead straight. "Rogers."

"General," Steve replied. "You're looking very, uh..."

Okoye looked him right in the eye. Steve wanted to curl up inside of his shirt and/or run away. "Looking very what?"

"...burly?"

Okoye didn't react, simply nodding at Aneka and Ayo. They nodded back, turning away and walking away in sync with each other. God, if only he was able to get close enough to someone to be in a relationship like theirs.

He couldn't let his heart get ahead of his head. He knew what he came here to do.

"Sit." Okoye glared at him.

"Yes, ma'am."

He pulled out the chair across from hers, and she nudged him a wooden cup filled with dark liquid. He opened his mouth to ask what it was, but Okoye cut him off. "Coffee and chicory root."

"Can I have some sug-"

"No sugar in this drink. No milk. Just drink."

"Alright, then." 

The coffee was bitter and strong, but not wanting to seem rude, Steve took a small sip from the cup. Okoye eyed him until he placed the cup down.

"The treaty is simple. You and any other allies of your team would immediately go back to the United States. You would get two years of parole, as well as everyone else on your team. If you ever have another disagreement like the one that occurred with the Avengers again, you will be sent to jail. You will have to release several statements regarding what happened, and your salary will be cut and used to pay for the damages you caused. You will not be allowed to leave the country unless S.H.I.E.L.D. deems the situation necessary."

"S.H.I.E.L.D? No, S.H.I.E.L.D's dead. It's gone. I should know."

"There's a lot you do not know, Rogers."

Okoye took a sip from her cup. Steve noticed an extra few beads on her bracelet, and felt compelled to ask, but didn't.

"Can I ask...why a peace treaty? Why would anyone want to forgive us after what we've done?" Steve asked.

"You're costing us and the rest of the world money, and it's dangerous for you to be running out and about, no one knowing where you are."

"You and I both know that it's not just that."

Okoye's shoulders tensed. It was a minuscule movement, but Steve noticed. She hesitated, something he had never seen her do.

"I was an exchange student for three years in New York. My best friend was a man named Raymond Holt. We sat at the same cafe table for three years and never spoke a word to each other. We were best friends. Recently, he reached out to me. He told me that one of his detectives had discovered that you were constantly running to and from Wakanda, and perhaps we should consider making a peace treaty with the U.N. You were a good soldier and a good man, and he said you should not have to live your life in the shadows like he did."

Steve frowned. "What are you implying, General?"

"I'm not implying anything. Raymond is not an army official. He is not someone with extremely high authority. Just an ordinary man who thought you deserved redemption. When I mentioned it to T'Challa, he said he would do something about it. It seems that most of the world thinks you're a good man who was just doing what he thought was right in a difficult scenario. The ones who do not are just louder."

Steve smiled weakly, sipping at his coffee. It tasted a little bit better the more he drank it, and the warm liquid felt nice. "Okay."

"You are in agreement?"

"Yes. I'll sign the treaty. It seems fair. But..." His mind kept wandering back to the hut on the outskirts of town.

"Princess Shuri will make a trip once a month to check on Barnes. He is in good hands."

"Thank you, Okoye."

Okoye said nothing. "If you need help finding your way back to the palace, you can use your beads.

"No scary lesbian bodyguards this time?"

"Just leave before I change my mind."

The sick feeling in Steve's stomach had lessened by the time he got back to the palace. He had wandered around the plains of Wakanda, just mulling over the treaty by himself, trying to process it. By now, the sky was dark, and speckled with stars. The pollution was much less here than it was in any other country, since Wakanda only used renewable resources and almost no one owned cars, and he could see the entire Milky Way in the sky above it. It was comforting to him, familiar. Sure, now he had to live with the thought of aliens and space battles and so much other stuff in the far universe, but looking out at it, it looked like going home.

He pressed one of his beads on his bracelet, trying to figure out how to call people. It took a little bit, but it was alright, since he saw his friend's face in front of him when he was done.

"Hey, Buck."

"Hey, Stevie."

"I just wanted to tell you goodnight."

"Do you want to come over for dinner?"

Steve paused. "Maybe some other time. I...I have a lot on my mind right now. I think it'd be best if I was alone for tonight."

"I'll see you tomorrow, then." 

Steve was about to hang up, when Bucky snickered to himself. "If I get word that you were sleepin' on the floor again, I'm gonna come up there myself to teach you how to change the mattress settings."

"Wha—I—how did you know? Who told you?"

"No one told me. I figured. You do know that you can change it, right?"

"I—no! No one told me I could change it!"

"Should I bother telling you how, or are you going to ignore me and still sleep on the floor?"

The two bickered and laughed together for a while, talking and laughing until Steve figured out how to change the mattress settings and ignored Bucky once again, lying down on the sofa instead with some sheets, whining and telling Bucky to close his eyes while he changed, and they talked until both of them were asleep. 

Nothing was the same and nothing was okay, but for a moment, just a split second, it felt like nothing had changed between them.


	4. . now playing >> autumn leaves : bts

When Steve woke up, his bracelet was still on. Clearly, Bucky's was too, since Steve could see his long hair draped over his face. It made him smile a little bit. He didn't want to, but still, he finally hung up and went to go change to work out.

Again, he felt strange. He was supposed to distance himself from Bucky, to try to scrape the odd feeling off his body, but he couldn't. Nothing relieved him of the feeling, and he couldn't stay away from Bucky. He hated this feeling of powerlessness. So he tried his best to shove it to the back of his head and changed into some workout clothes (courtesy of T'Challa) to go try to find Sam. 

Exercise with Sam was the closest thing he could get to therapy. Steve would repress his emotions and let Sam see a few of his feelings, Sam would tell him to go to a therapist, and Steve would ignore him. It was a cycle that never changed. Still, it was kind of fun to make fun of Sam's humanity. Like when Steve would run twenty miles in 45 minutes and not be very tired at all, and Sam would run seven in the same amount of time and have Natasha carry him back home. 

He met up with Sam in the hallway, who was already drenched in what looked like sweat.

"Did you already go work out?" Steve asked.

"No. I went for a run outside."

"How many miles?"

"None. I walked outside and this happened, and then I went back inside, and now I'm here," Sam said.

"Oh. Do you want to go work out?"

"Sure."

"There's a gym here, right?"

"If there's not, I'm calling bullshit design on this place. Wakandan Alexa?" Sam tapped his beads, which clearly didn't answer. "Hey, Siri? Ok Google? Janet from the Good Place?”

”You have to tap them-“

”I am tapping them!”

”Just—“ Steve tapped his own beads. “Where’s the palace gym?”

”Down the hallway, five doors down, and it’s on the left. And for the record, I’m kind of offended that you think that my beads will answer to you calling it a Wakanadan Alexa,” Shuri said, walking by, holding a box of scattered mechanics and bits of inventions that seemed heavier than she was. Steve picked the box off her hands with ease.

”Where do you want this?”

”Right next to the new model of the Black Panther suit in the lab, thanks.” 

Shuri then turned to Sam. “Look. It’s like the quinjet. It’s calibrated like the quinjet. To have full access to the beads, you need to say your voice command. Come on, try and guess what yours is!”

”Uh...Sam Wilson.”

”Bo-ring! Keep going!”

”Falcon?”

”Nope!”

Sam groaned. “It’s ‘Pigeon,’ isn’t it?”

”Welcome, Sam Wilson,” the beads said, first in English, then Xhosa.

”Okay, then you’re going to scan your iris and your thumb,” Shuri said.

”Wait, it wasn’t just the voice command?”

”What, do you think I’d make my beads just accessible to anyone who has a recording of you saying the word ‘pigeon?’ Even the quinjet requires a handprint!”

”I guess that makes sense. Okay.” Shuri pressed Sam’s fingers onto the beads, then holding his hand up to his iris.

”And finally, some security questions,” Shuri announced.

”Why would you ever need security questions?” Sam asked. “No one could replicate my voice, my iris, and my fingerprint!”

”You have a lot to learn about skrulls and LMDs, young sparrow,” Shuri said.

”What?”

”I like to read old SHIELD files. Don't try to think about it, you'll just drive yourself insane. Here. Question one: what is friendship?"

"What do you mean, 'what is friendship?' That's a stupid question! Next!"

"Wow, spot on. Question two: what's the name of your childhood pet who died after running into the street?"

Sam mumbled something under his breath.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Madame Cecilia Flufferbutt."

"Great name, by the way. Question three, what's the worst thing Steve has ever done to you?"

"Definitely eating a pie that was clearly labeled ‘Sam.’”

”That wasn’t a security question, I just wanted to know. Really? I was expecting more of a murder-y kind of-“

”My mom made it.”

”Oh, okay, then. That’s valid. Hey, thanks, Steve,” Shuri said as Steve walked out of the lab.

”The guards wouldn’t let me into the lab, so I just gave it to your mom,” Steve said.

”Wait, mom’s in the lab? No! Mom!” Shuri ran off, chasing after her mom.

“You gave a box of scrap metal to Queen Ramonda?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

”Nah, I was kidding. I gave it to T’Challa, who wanted to scare her,” Steve said. “Anyway, gym?”

"Yep."

The two followed the princess' instructions to get to the gym, marveling at the hallways and rooms they passed, all of which had at least two guards at the door.

"What do you think are in the rooms?" Steve pondered.

"More labs for Shuri, probably. This seems to be hers and T'Challa's hallway. I haven't seen Nakia and Ramonda here at all," Sam said, shrugging.

"Here," Steve said.

He pointed to the gym, door ajar, unlike the other rooms. Sam whistled at the equipment. "That is a nice gym!"

"We have a gym like that at..." Steve was going to say 'at home,' before realizing that the Avengers compound wasn't his home anymore. Not really. 

Sam ignored him, strolling in and making a beeline straight for the cardio machines. "Now we can run together and stay together while doing it," he said.

Steve smirked, cranking the machine as high as it would go. "Try to keep up, old man."

Sam's jaw dropped. "Old man? Old man? Which of us is 100 years old here?"

"Neither of us! I'm only 99!"

"Oh, I apologize, that's a significant difference!"

Steve shook his head, beginning to run steadily as the machine began going faster and faster. Despite it being at its limit, Steve still remained steady and composed, as if he was just going out for a brisk walk. Sam, on the other hand, not so much, but he did a good job of faking it.

"What did Okoye want to talk to you about?" Sam asked, trying to act like he wasn't already getting breathless.

"I didn't tell you that we got coffee."

"Yeah, Natasha told me."

"I didn't tell her either!"

"She's Natasha! She'll find out, one way or another. Now, I'm assuming you didn't just go on a date with Okoye."

Steve stammered, gaping. "I- how do you know? I could've!"

"Yeah, have you met Okoye? She got divorced after threatening to kill her husband for the fate of Wakanda. That woman would burn you alive to keep T'Challa warm and she wouldn't even feel guilty about it. You did not go on a date with Okoye. What did she want to talk about?"

Steve sighed. "Just the terms of the Peace Treaty. If I'm honest, all of this feels iffy to me."

"What about is iffy? This is what we wanted, right? You got to claim the moral high ground and save Bucky. Now we get to stop running. We get to not be war criminals. We get to go home."

Steve looked down. "I know, but is it really home anymore?" He shook his head. "We've been running for so long, trying to keep our morals straight, trying not to die for, what, one, two years now? I said what I needed to say to Tony, that Bucky was innocent and I would rather become a war criminal than risk the safety of Bucky, or worse, just go along with it, turn on my friend, and send him to a- a mental asylum, Sam! If he's not ready to be on my side again, then I'm not ready to go back."

"And that works out great, for you and Bucky. And I get that, Steve. He's the only bit remaining from your old life, and you want to keep him safe. But me, Nat, Wanda...the Avengers are our family. You have your own home with Bucky, right? Well, the Avengers are our family. And it's kind of selfish for you not to even acknowledge it a little bit!"

"They're not our family anymore! Tony had all the resources available to sway the government, to call us and tell us to come home, but the only one who has helped us so far is T'Challa. Tony could've called me. He could've told us that he needs us, that the Avengers aren't the same without us, that we should come home. But he didn't. Family doesn't turn on each other like that. We shouldn't have to compromise our morals just to fit back in with Tony."

"They're your morals, Steve!" Sam blurted out. Steve fell silent.

"What?"

"I told you, Steve. I told you that we would all take hits if we sided with you. I told you that we would get hurt. But you didn't listen. God, Steve, Rhodey can't walk now! And whose fault is it? Clearly not Tony's! He was just trying to help! He tried to keep us all together for the good of the average civilian! But you decided that Bucky was more important than the rest of the world. Because fuck the rest of us, right?" Sam laughed weakly, clearly not meaning it. He grabbed his water bottle and stopped the machine, angrily stepping off. "You can stay here with Barnes if you want. I don't care. But when the chance comes to sign that peace treaty, I'm going to take it."

Steve slowed down the machine, watching Sam walk out the door of the gym. Shoulders hunched over the handlebars of the treadmill, he took a shaky breath. He didn't know what he had just said, but he did know that it was wrong, and that he wanted to follow after Sam. He almost did. But he didn't. He knew that Sam was not the kind of person you wanted to try to reason him when he was angry. But he knew in his heart that there was nothing to reason about. Sam was right. He was just being a coward.

Cowardly was not something in his blood. Even from his first wheezy breaths to his last icy breath before slipping under the sea, he was never cowardly. Walking into battle with no weapons didn't scare him. Jumping out of planes didn't faze him. But still, he was scared of seeing Tony again. And worse, he was scared that Tony was still going to be mad at him. Obviously, he was. Tony was upset and vulnerable for honestly, a good reason. And Steve had been so angry that Tony had lashed out at Bucky that he didn't even stop to consider what actually happened until months later. Steve just didn't want to have to look Tony in the eye and have to tell him that he had overreacted, that all their pain and suffering for the past two years had been for nothing.

Steve sighed, finally getting off the treadmill and walking out the door. Sam was clearly long gone, and he could still here T'Challa cackling at Shuri, who was screaming at him in Xhosa. 

When Steve was passing by the lab to go back to his room, the screaming stopped. Shuri peeked her head out the door of the lab. "Steve. I was looking for you. Come here. I have a job for you."

"Sure. What kind of job?"

"Can you beat up my brother for me?"

"Uh..."

"Gonna take that as a yes. Go get 'im, tiger!"

"I'm going to have to say no. Is there anything else?"

"Yes, actually. I wanted to talk to you about the Peace Treaty. T'Challa, get out!" Shuri grabbed her brother by the back of te collar and shoved him out of the lab, then pulling Steve in. 

Shuri looked around, whispering to her beads in Xhosa. The security cameras in the lab all turned away. Shuri lowered her voice.

"Listen, I've been doing some research on Tony's family, and I don't think Bucky killed him," Shuri whispered.

Steve frowned. "Bucky? No, no. He definitely did. There's a video. It's from the '90s. There's no way it could've been edited."

"That's what they want you to think. But I ran the footage through a couple programs, and I don't think this is actually a human. Look, this is a heat detection program. As the name suggests, it detects heat. All of the environment has at least a little heat. And there are Maria and Howard, pretty warm, since they're humans. But Bucky has little to no heat in this. Even when I scanned him when he was in cryo, he was warmer than this. So you understand that I have reason to believe that this isn't Bucky," Shuri said.

"Then who was it?" Steve asked.

"I'm not sure. My guess? SHIELD and HYDRA were still intertwined in 1991. Maybe an Life Model Decoy? I'd have to do some more research. I just wanted to let you know. I think Bucky's just taking the blame to wrap it all up in a nice neat bow. Maybe you should talk to him. Let Tony know," Shuri said.

Steve was quiet. "Is that it?" He asked meekly.

Shuri nodded. "That's it."

"Okay."

Steve ran his hands through his hair once again, walking out of the lab as fast as possible. How could Bucky lie to him like that? He was his best friend. Steve was Bucky's best friend. Why didn't he trust him? Steve would've been on his side no matter what. So why didn't Bucky tell him? Did he not remember? Did he not care?

Head spiraling, Steve finally went back to his room. It was only his second day in Wakanda and his time was already spiraling, hard. Why wouldn't Bucky trust him? He'd never do that to him.

And suddenly, he was standing back there, back in Brooklyn in 1935, with the smell of dirt and smoke in his nostrils. And Bucky was there, too. He looked exactly the same as he remembered them, hair slicked back with car grease from the mechanic's shop where he worked at, his white blouse tucked into his cargo pants with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and his thumbs under his suspenders. 

"Hey, punk," Bucky said, smiling with that goofy smile where his eyes closed up a little bit and there was just the faintest hint of a dimple on his cheek. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Secret?" Steve asked warily. His body was all different, bony and fragile. He looked up from his drawing of a stray cat that he had seen on the street today. "What kind of secret?"

"I got kissed today," Bucky said. 

"That's nice," Steve replied. Bucky getting kissed wasn't a very new event. It happened almost every other day. Bucky was a catch for the girls in Brooklyn. A mama's boy, well-behaved, Jewish, and good-looking too. At this point, every other day, there was a different girl. Steve pretty much stopped trying to learn their names.

"By a queer."

At this, Steve perked up. He didn't like the word "queer." It made his skin feel all crawly. He didn't like to think about it, much less talk about it, but it was definitely something different. It was something worse, something you wouldn't want to announce to people. It was not something to celebrate, it was something to keep to yourself.

"And you let him?"

"I didn't know where it was going." Clearly, this was untrue. Bucky kept on touching the hole in his pants pocket, and Steve knew instantly when he saw his hands moving around in his pockets. Probably Bucky didn't even know that he did this. But Steve knew Bucky's body, his tells better than his own. But Steve didn't want to pry. Still, he was curious.

"How'd it feel?"

"I...I don't really know. Rougher. It's different than girls. Not bad different. Just weird different." He was lying again. His hands were still in his pockets.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You're my best friend, Stevie. I couldn't hide anything from you." 

Bucky was always trying to hide things from him. Steve didn't know it then, and he still didn't quite understand why he didn't just tell him when he was straight, right? But it had never been anything big. So why was he lying now? 

And then Steve came back down to earth, with the smell of rough soap and Brooklyn gone. The only smell that lingered was is own, and he was alone.


	5. . now playing >> week : chungha

Tony hated the Avengers Compound now.

It seemed useless now. Before everything, the compound was always busy, bustling with life and filled with the sounds of laughter. Not quite happiness, but healing. Now, the cold metal was harsh and unforgiving. The life it once had was gone, buried beneath the foundations.

So he left.

Now, with nothing holding him back, nothing prompting him to stay there, he made his decision. Leaving was probably for the best, anyway. With the wedding on the way, he might as well be closer to the people who cared about him, instead of pining over the ones that left.

He woke up in his and Pepper's hotel room. They were still looking for a house, and Tony liked seeing Peter almost daily now. Pepper had already gotten up and gone to work, which left Tony alone for quite some time. Still, it was better than the compound, so he dealt with it.

Rubbing his head, he sat up, vision focusing. Sitting across from him was his assistant, already focused and promptly on time.

"You have a press conference at 11. Happy will be here in exactly 45 minutes to take you to the stylist. Be sure to not look like that when he comes around. And eat something," she said. His assistant was a petite Korean girl, with pin-straight black hair and buck teeth. Her name was Stephanie Moon, and she was one of Peter's classmates. He had mentioned needing an assistant sometime around Peter, so he recommended her. She hadn't failed him, she was just quite a serious girl, and kind of a party-pooper at times.

"I―Jesus Christ, Moon! I was sleeping!" Tony scrambled out of bed. Stephanie blinked slowly.

"You asked me to show up at 8. It's 9:14."

"You've been watching me sleep for an hour?!"

"Not important. There's breakfast already prepared in the kitchenette. Brush your teeth and your hair once you're done, and then go downstairs so Happy can pick you up."

"Jesus," Tony said, murmuring curses to himself. "What's the update on the new wing on the compound?"

"Progressing steadily. About half the X-Men are still in the old wing, but several of them have already moved into the new wing. Would you like to introduce all of them at the press conference?"

"Just a couple for now. Charles, Erik, Hank, Raven, Scott, Jean, Ororo, and Logan. Everyone else will get a mention, but I don't want to bring all of them in just now, in case the news doesn't sit well with everyone. And their salaries?"

"Already ahead of you. I've sent it down to payroll already and added them to the cell phone and healthcare plan. I'm competent, you know. Just eat your breakfast and show up downstairs in 45 minutes. I'll be in your office if you need me."

"Alright," Tony said warily. If he was being honest, the fact that the X-Men were here still felt like a dream. There was no super-sciency explanation for it yet, but all the Stark Industries scientists, as well as Vision himself, all theorized that somewhere, recently, there was a portal opened from another universe, and something happened, and a whole bunch of X-Men tumbled out. They were able to trace the radiation from the portal to somewhere in New York City, but at the address the found, the only thing they found was angry Chinese guy who threw a sandwich at them and told them to get off his lawn while listening to Beyonce, so who knows where the X-Men actually came from.

Still, it was kind of nice to have them around. Tony got along pretty well with most of them. The only one who scared him was Erik. Tall, muscular, and dark-skinned with blinding white hair, Erik just seemed to carry himself in a way that told everyone exactly how much power he had, and what he could do with it. Something about the way his Auschwitz number tattooed on his wrist was always subtly flashed towards people and the way his eyebrows furrowed just enough to make him look permanently angry sent chills down Tony's spine. 

Don't get him wrong, Erik was perfectly lovely. He was funny when he wanted to be, and while he was solemn, he was still kind at times. Tony just knew that Erik could crush him inside his suit at any given moment, effectively killing him. Erik had immense power, and Tony knew it, and the fact that he wouldn't stand a chance against him if the day ever came was unnerving.

Stephanie rushed him out of the hotel room quickly, ushering him downstairs. God, he had hired a helicopter mom trapped in the body of a high school sophomore. Still, right on the dot, Happy was waiting for him downstairs. As usual, there was at least a couple cameras and paparazzi, but Tony barely noticed it anymore. He simply got in the backseat of the car, pulling out his phone to call Peter.

"Hi, Pete."

"Hey, Mr. Stark."

"Wait, it's 10:00 on a Wednesday. What are you doing, answering your phone in school?"

"Well, when Tony Stark calls you, you answer. What's up?"

"Nothing. I was just calling to tell you that I wanted to introduce you to some new people after school. Happy'll pick you up after school, if that's okay. I'll call your Aunt May. They'll be formally introduced to the public today at 11, and I was going to have you meet them before, but clearly, that's not happening..." Tony drummed his fingers on the car door. 

"Is it the X-Men? I've heard so much about them! Is it true they have a guy with a metal skeleton who has retractable claws made out of metal as strong as vibranium?!" Peter asked excitedly. Tony smiled.

"Maybe. I want you to hear it from them, though. Don't want to put words in their mouths. They're nice people, though. Kinda weird, and really messed up mentally, but they're nice. Super gay. Super depressed. You'll get along great, kid."

"Awesome! Hey, can I put you on speaker for a sec? Flash! Flash! Come here, it's Mr. Stark on the phone-"

"Go back to class, Parker. Gotta keep those grades up. I'll call you later."

"Wait, Mr. Stark! Wait for Flash! Wait-"

Tony hung up, rubbing the back of his neck and turning to Happy. Happy looked back for a second, just barely taking his eyes off the road. "Right here. Have fun."

Tony opened his mouth, ready to say something about tomorrow, but something stopped him. Instead, he just closed his mouth and walked out of the car. "Thanks, Happy. See you later."

The stylist went by relatively fast, and before he knew it, he was back in Happy's car and at the base of the old Stark Tower, walking up to the podium with his script in front of him.

The lights of the camera were nearly blinding, and while he was used to it, Jean's leg kept bouncing more and more. She concerned him the most out of the X-Men, more than Erik, even more than Charles, who could read all his private thoughts without him knowing, just because she was like a fuse ready to blow at any given moment. One wrong movement could set her off. Scott squeezed her hand underneath the table they were sitting at, unaffected by the lights through his red glasses.

Tony cleared his throat into the microphone. The reporters all quieted down. He leaned forward, tapping the mic a little bit before speaking, looking out into the swarm of reporters. An island amidst a sea of humanity.

"Hi, everyone. I know there have been...quite a lot of rumors about some new Avengers joining the crew. In the light of recent events, I thought it necessary to get up here and clarify everything. We're not adding new people to the Avengers. Think of this more as a permanent collaboration. That's why I'm here to introduce the leaders of the X-Men, Charles Xavier and Erik Lensherr. Take it away, guys." 

Tony walked over to the side, watching Charles wheel himself to the podium. Erik lifted up his wheelchair so he could reach the mic.

"Thank you, all. I'm Charles Xavier, again. This is my colleague, Erik Lensherr. Here with us are Cyclops, Phoenix, Wolverine, Storm, Nightcrawler, and Mystique. There’s definitely some clarifications that should be made, so I’d like to open up the floor to questions.”

”How did you get here?” One reporter called out.

“That’s a fine question, which we don’t have the answer to. Some of the Avengers have theorized that some portal opened up in between our two worlds and we happened to fall through. Next?”

”What year is it in your world?”

”That’s sort of complicated. See, wherever the portal opened up, it opened up in different parts of time. Charles and I, Mystique, Logan, Hank, and a couple other members of our team are from 1964. Cyclops, Phoenix, Storm, and Nightcrawler are from 1984. Nonetheless, we’re not from 2017, like it is here.”

“How did you end up in a wheelchair? How are you a superhero if you’re in a superhero?” 

Charles flinched. Erik glared, his piercing eyes nearly ripping through the reporter. The metal mic started bending slightly, even though Erik had his hands at his sides.

”My power is telepathy. I don’t need to be able to walk to be a superhero, especially because my powers don’t rely on it. I was shot in the back and paralyzed from the waist down. Thank you, that’ll be quite enough questions about my condition.” Charles spoke with feigned cheerfulness.

“Any other questions?” Erik continued, rubbing his forearm threateningly. 

The reporters continued asking questions, now being more wary and careful when asking about Charles. Erik meant well, of course, but he kept glancing back at Tony, who was sitting next to Logan at the end of the table with that “I’ll-kill-you” sort of look. Tony was pretty sure that he knew it wasn’t Tony’s fault, but still, he was so hot and terrifying at the same time. There weren’t any jabs at Erik like that, only a couple questions about his time in Auschwitz, which he avoided, for good reason, but still, Tony didn’t want to see what it would be like if someone asked him a rude question like that.

Peter showed up just as the press conference was about to end, scrambling to put his mask on and stumbling through the doorway. “Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark! I’m here!”

“I—what? How!? You’re supposed to be in school! I was going to schedule another press conference to introduce y-“

“Lunch break, and I have to be back in ten minutes, so if we’re going to introduce me, you might wanna make it quick!”

“Alright, alright! Be ready to come in when I say!”

Tony strolled onto the platform. The reporters quieted down, eager to hear his closing remarks. “Okay, before we end this thing, I have one new Avenger I’d like to introduce. Spiderman, get over here!”

Peter frantically ran onto the platform. The press went wild, all clamoring to ask questions. Peter gave a meek Ok sign with his fingers, then a peace sign. “Sorry, guys, can’t answer any questions...you know, secret identity and stuff. Bye, everyone!”

Tony gestured to Peter as he ran off. “Spiderman, everyone! Remember, we’re going to the movies later!”

“Got it, Mr. Stark!”

Tony clapped his hands together. “Thanks, everyone. Have a great day. The X-Men and Spiderman!” He announced, stepping aside. Erik bowed his head in acknowledgment. Charles waved his hand awkwardly. 

Once the press conference was over and all the reporters had finally scattered, including a very distressed intern who had dropped his camera in a puddle, and all the X-Men and Tony himself were inside Happy’s limo, Tony finally was able to talk to Erik and Charles.

“Hey, thanks for doing this, and I’m so sorry that you guys had to deal with that question-“

“Don’t worry about it,” Erik grunted. 

“We just thought things might be a little different now. I suppose it’s not,” Charles said, sighing. “Besides, it’s a valid question. Honestly, the questions Erik got about Auschwitz were worse.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna disagree with that. My mom was Jewish. Pepper, Peter and Wanda are too, so...”

“Mr. Stark?” Stephanie moved over to where the three of them were, hastily moving past Logan and Scott. “The conference was well received. Current polls show that support for the X-Men and Spiderman are at 82 percent. Twitter is furious over the questions asked, which means more free press for us. The hashtag ‘DailyBugleIsOverParty’ is trending on Twitter, and-“

“Yeah, Steph, I’m in the middle of something right now. Did you buy tickets for the movies with Peter later?”

”No, Wade would like permission to come, so I didn’t buy them yet.”

"Wow. Okay. Tell him absolutely not and buy the tickets. Anyway-" Tony turned back to Charles and Erik. "We don't really do a lot of press about our private lives, so hopefully you won't ever have to do that again."

"Reassuring," Erik said. "It's fine. Really. It just caught me by surprise."

Tony nodded, moving away from Erik and Charles, who continued chatting quietly. Passing the rest of the X-Men, he was hit with the realization that there was possibility in all of them. As he saw Jean laughing hysterically at an oblivious Scott, Storm making little flurries appear on Kurt's meticulously gelled hair, and Logan, sitting by himself and drinking a beer calmly, he almost saw the Avengers in them. Just for a second. It went away quickly, but the feeling that something new was happening longered long after that day. 

Maybe it was time. He had mourned over the first real family he ever had for months, but it was time to acknowledge the fact that they were too broken to be a real family, too different. They were there out of necessity, that was all. Tony had spent months feeling like a fool, feeling played and betrayed that Steve had been able to walk away so easily from him, but now he understood. He had never really been his friend, just temporary. Just a placeholder for someone more important. And he was fine with it, mostly. Until he looked around the limo and saw them all bantering and laughing with each other and he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time―hope.

Still, he shook it off. He had to. He barely knew these people. They could kill him in a blink of an eye. Perhaps Tony was touch-starved and emotionally constipated to the max, but he couldn't dump it on these people. They didn't deserve it. 

It wasn't all bad. He had Peter, Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey. And that was enough for him. He knew he didn't deserve a family, but he saw the world a little differently every time he did.


	6. . now playing >> same here : som hein

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Normally, I refrain from author's notes and chapter notes, but I wanted to apologize for the wait on this chapter. I got myself stuck in a rut and didn't know what to write, but now that my school musical is over and my school's now officially practicing social distancing, I had more time to write. Hopefully this won't happen again. Thanks for your patience, everyone :)

"Captain?"

Steve turned around, looking at Shuri, who was peeking her head through the doorframe. Steve put down his sketchbook and pencil down, stuffing them in one of the pockets of his cargo pants. The few of them had already packed and cleaned themselves up a little bit for the plane ride, but Steve was still a little anxious. Sure, he had been on planes hundreds of times, but he was still always on edge while he was on them, preparing himself for a crash no matter what the circumstances were.

"Hm?"

"It's time to leave. They're waiting."

Steve got up, slinging the small duffel bag of his few remaining possessions over his shoulder. He hadn't spoken with Sam since their argument, and in fact, he hadn't seen Natasha at all since arriving in Wakanda. He knew that she had a fling with one of the Dora Milaje, but still, it was a little strange that she wasn't around at all. 

Natasha met up with him in the hallway, neck peppered with hickies and hair ruffled. She only carried a small backpack. Steve shot a questioning look at her.

"Mind your damn business," Nat snapped.

"I didn't say anything!"

"Well, I could hear you thinking!"

"How do you know what I was thinking!"

"Please! Just because you're a 100-year-old virgin doesn't mean we all have to live like mormons here!"

"I didn't even say anything!"

Steve and Nat kept on bickering until Shuri had finally led them to the jet. Steve knew quite well that Wakanda's jets were more advanced, more efficient, better for the planet, and generally better-looking, too, but Steve still couldn't help but be amazed at the sight of the sleek obsidian-black plane.

"Ready?" T'Challa asked, helping Steve onto the plane.

"No. Better take off before I realize that this is a bad idea," Steve said.

"Since when has that ever stopped you?" Bucky mumbled. Steve hadn't even noticed him, as he sat alone in the shadows of one of the corners of the plane, using his teeth and one arm to try to buckle himself in.

Steve reached over to help him buckle his seatbelt. "So, no arm?"

"I didn't want to make a bad first impression," Bucky mumbled, just barely loud enough so only Steve could hear. "It seems wherever I take it, something bad follows. I really do want to fix things."

Steve could see it in his eyes that Bucky was so tired, so exhausted of being hated and of being rejected by everyone. He could see it because it's what he saw every time he looked in the mirror. While it was unspoken, they both understood. 

"I have to go apologize to Sam. I'll be back," Steve murmured.

Steve sheepishly walked over to Sam, who was tapping his foot and clicking his tongue.

"Sam, I-"

"I know what you're going to say. Took you long enough."

"I was wrong. I-"

"Go sit down, man. I don't need to hear you monologue. I'm going to get some sleep. If you still want to formally apologize, do it when I wake up."

Steve was going to open his mouth and continue with his apology but Sam was not kidding about going to sleep. Sam opened one eye and made a shooing motion, until Steve had no choice to sit back down near Bucky. Natasha had joined them, and was eyeing Bucky up and down.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

Natasha was silent. “3/10.”

”What?”

”I give you a 3/10 rating. Steve, you can do better. I’m sorry, but your whole grunge look hasn’t worked since Kurt Cobain. And you have an cool complexion. That orange doesn’t work on you.”

”Why are you judging my looks? Aren’t you a lesbian?” Bucky asked.

”I’m gay, not blind, Bucko.” 

“Alright, lay off each other now, will ya? I’m already stressed enough as it is,” Steve grumbled.

Natasha sighed. “Look, I get it, Steve. You broke up with either your ex-boyfriend or father figure or brother or something...? I still don’t know what you and Tony are to each other. Still, you can’t just decide to act pissy every time you have to think about this. We’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other than we have for the past couple years. It’s time to move on, and that means fixing your emotions. I know don’t want to hear this, but...” Nat shrugged. “Maybe you should go back to therapy.”

”No. No therapy,” Steve said instantly.

”Or just keep it all bottled up and dump it on the people you care about. That seems healthy, too. You can ignore my advice, but you know I’m right. Bye, Steve.” 

Nat stood up, patting Bucky’s shoulder, then flinching at his orange shirt, shuddering and walking away to sit near Okoye. Steve rolled his eyes.

”I guess everyone has it out for me today.”

Bucky looked down at his shirt. “Does orange really look bad on me?”

”Buck, come on, we’ve got some more important issues right now than your shirt.”

”Steve, there’s not much to discuss. Nat’s right. You should get therapy. But seriously, is orange really not my color?”

”I don’t know! And okay, okay. Say Natasha is right and that therapy is the right choice. What kind of therapist would treat a superhero?”

”Can’t be any different than normal PTSD, right? Doesn’t Tony have a therapist? He’s rich, right? But also, should I take this shirt off? Should I change?”

”It looks fine. Last I heard, Tony didn’t have a therapist. Although a lot has happened since then. He used to just rant to Bruce, but since he’s gone, I don’t know.”

”Well, I think you should try it out. What the hell is an cool complexion?”

”It means your skin is cool-toned, Bucky, get with the program!“ Steve sighed. "Look, I tried therapy. It didn't work. I’m not going back.”

”So you had one bad experience with therapy. You’re really that much of a pussy that you’re not going to go back? If my skin is cool-toned, then what colors should I wear?”

”Since when do you call people pussies?”

”Since when do you give up on stuff?”

Steve was silent. Bucky was right. He had never been one to give up on stuff. But therapy made him uncomfortable in ways that jumping out of planes never made him feel.

Bucky clearly saw this and scoffed at him, but changed the subject anyway. “So, about those colors-“

”Jesus Christ, I don’t know.”

The two sat in silence for a moment.

"What's the first thing you'll do when you get back?” Bucky said after a while.

”I don’t know,” Steve said, probably much too eagerly.

”Yes, you do.”

“I don’t wanna say.”

”It’s the food, isn’t it?”

”You’re the worst, do you know that?”

”Hey, I was just asking! One time in Mongolia, I ate nothing but warm horse blood and milk for a month. I was certainly glad to get back to Uzbekistan after that.”

”Mongolia? Uzbekistan? HORSE BLOOD? I—you know what? It doesn’t matter. But no, it’s not the food. Even though it will be nice to eat a real cheeseburger when I get back. With bacon. So much of Africa and the Middle East is Muslim that I haven’t been able to find bacon for months. But no."

"What is it, then?"

"I want to sleep in my own bed."

Bucky seemed to be torn in his reaction. Part of it seemed as if he wanted to laugh at the simplicity and ridiculousness of his request, but he also seemed to understand. It had been a long time since either of them had a place to call home, but they always seemed to long for a place where they once could. The more Steve ran, the further that place seemed to be. But he couldn't shake off the feeling that home wasn't even back in New York like he had thought it had been all his life.

Steve suddenly gaped. "You've never seen where I live."

"Yes, I have."

"No, you haven't."

"Yes, I have," Bucky said, now more sure. 

"Oh." Steve slowly realized what he meant. "You remember?"

Bucky sighed, shrugging. "Bits and pieces? It's like a nightmare. I can't tell what's real or what I imagined."

"What do you remember?"

Bucky paused, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. "Tan walls. Red plaid duvet on the bed, unused. A cot on the floor with a blanket. Cheap shades on the windows. Picture frames face down."

Steve nodded. "When I lived in D.C. I had the pictures of you and Peggy so I could try to feel close to you. It didn't work. It had been seventy years for everyone else, but it had only been a year for me. Hated looking at them. Felt like I failed. So they were all face down."

"Did you move to New York after that?" 

Steve shrugged. "Moved around a lot. I lived in the compound for a bit, but I hated fighting with everyone else there, constantly. But I couldn't afford to live in Brooklyn. So I bounced around for a while." Steve glanced at Bucky. "But I think I've found my home again."

"Will I be able to live with you?" Bucky looked down. "I'm not sure how much Tony will want me in the compound."

"Of course.”

And it was funny, how here they were, eighty years after everything, and he was the one offering sanctuary instead of the other way around. It was a little strange, but Steve liked this better, he thought. Being out of control of his own destiny and fate was not something he was a fan of.

”Are you going to sign it?”

Steve was silent. Bucky looked down. 

“Oh.”

”Yeah. Yes, I’m signing it. I don’t agree. But it’s for the good of everyone else. That’s what being a superhero is, isn’t it? Sacrificing your comfort to keep everyone else safe. We don’t choose that life. But we have to follow it.”

Bucky only merely acknowledged Steve. He seemed a little off-put by Steve’s words. Steve frowned.

”What is it? What did I say?”

“Nothing, it’s just...it sounds like the old you. It’s...strange.”

Steve tilted his head. “I guess you bring out the old me.”

“That’s sweet.”

”Shut up.”

“Can you ask Natasha about the shirt?”

Steve sighed heavily. “Fine. I’ll ask Natasha about the stupid shirt. If it really means that much to you.”

”Thanks.”

”Get some sleep.”

”But I’m not ti-“

”Sleep. Before Sam wakes up. I don’t think we’ll be getting much in the coming days.”

Bucky mumbled some curses, but didn't say anything else, lying down on the seats and arranging his hair over his face to cover his eyes. Steve wondered if he always did that now, but he didn't have time to waste. T'Challa was clearly on the verge of sleep, and Natasha was, too, although asking about what Bucky's wardrobe color scheme was of less importance than discussing the arrangements with T'Challa.

T'Challa had already closed his eyes by the time Steve had gotten over there. He sat down next to him, trying his best to be quiet. T'Challa groaned, feeling Steve sit down. He opened a single eye.

"What?"

Steve smiled awkwardly. "Heyyyy..."

T'Challa began to close his eyes again.

”Wait, no! I’m sorry!” Steve caught himself quickly, forcing T’Challa to sigh and sit up.

”What do you want? I’m busy right now.”

”You don’t seem very busy.”

”I—shut up.”

"I want to discuss the terms of the treaty."

"Didn't Okoye already discuss them with you?"

"Yes. But I want to hear it again. Especially the part about Bucky." Steve sighed, putting his head in his hands and leaning over his knees. "I just need to hear that he'll be safe. That he'll be safe," he repeated.

"Listen to me. Bucky will be safe. No matter what. I don't know Tony's personal agenda, nor his personal feelings, but legally, he'll be protected. When you sign this treaty, you are agreeing to stop running from the government and saying that your love for the world and your desire to fight for it is greater than any disagreement you could ever have, with Tony or with anyone else in the Avengers. Bucky will remain protected under that. Although, maybe a joint therapy session with Tony would be good. For both of them." T'Challa put his hand on Steve's shoulder. "I promise that both of you will be safe."

He didn't care if he was safe or not, Steve kept thinking to himself. All he cared about was that Bucky would be okay, even if he was gone. He'd always known he'd die on the battlefield, but he wanted to make sure that his relationship with Tony didn't have anything to do with how welcome Bucky would be at the compound.

"Thank you. That's..." It still wasn't comforting. Steve still couldn't shake off what the princess had said to him about the murder of Tony's parents, and while he still wasn't sure about the odd feelings he was still having near Bucky, he was sure that something dangerous was coming. He didn't know what it was, or how he knew it was coming, but he just felt as if something terrible was about to happen. Maybe it was just his "anxiety" or "PTSD" that Nat and Sam were constantly nagging him to check out, but he was usually right about these things and this time, he had something more to lose.

Maybe he just needed some sleep. He decided that sleeping was probably his best bet. He didn't know how fast Wakanda's planes traveled, but he still imagined that it'd be at least a couple hours flight. Besides, if the Avengers were still like they were before he left, he'd imagine he wouldn't be getting much sleep. He knew at the very least that Clint was still there. He had thought he was slick by striking a deal with General Ross—two years house arrest and parole for two more in exchange for not being a war criminal and being able to spend time with his "kids."

Steve didn't know much about Clint's situation, and he considered them to be quite close, so he imagined it must have been quite easy for him to lie to General Ross. He knew he had a farm somewhere in rural Russia, where he lived with his "kids," which were really just his dogs, Lucky and Pizza. Steve didn't know when or how he lived there. All he knew is that he was living there when he had come across Natasha. Whether it was paid for by S.H.I.E.L.D. or if it was still there was something he'd never mentioned. Steve did know about the dingy, cramped apartment in downtown Harlem, which he had been to a couple times to help Clint move out of and into Stark Tower. He had never returned, which was probably for the best.

Steve walked back over to where Bucky was lying down, spread across several seats. Okoye had spotted him lying down with his feet up and hadn't stopped glaring at him for the past couple minutes. Steve sighed.

"What is it, Okoye?"

"Do not put your shoes on the seats. If you lift the armrest, they can recline—actually, I will just do it."

"If you tell me how I can just-"

"I have to get behind you, move-"

"No, really, we can manage-"

"Move, Rogers, it is not a big deal-"

"Okoye, stop, we can-"

Okoye quickly forced Bucky's feet off the seat and forced him to sit up, reclining the seat for him until it was almost a cot, and jostling Bucky around quite a bit in the process. Bucky opened his eyes to see Okoye only a couple inches away from his face, glaring at him and muttering curses in Xhosa as she fixed the seat for him.

"Man, what the fuck?"

"Alright! I am done. Finished. No shoes on the seats!" she barked, making both Steve and Bucky jump.

Bucky frowned. "What the hell was that about?"

"The shoes on the seats, I guess." Steve turned to face Bucky, lying down on his own seat. "You gonna go back to sleep?"

"Did you ask Natasha about the shirt?"

Steve glanced at Natasha, who was draped over Okoye's lap. Okoye absentmindedly ran her fingers through Natasha's sloppily cut bleached white hair with one hand and kept her other hand on her spear. She still kept an eye on T'Challa, just to make sure he was okay.

"I think that'll probably be a question for later," Steve said softly. Bucky nodded, turning away from Steve and rearranging his hair once more to cover his eyes. Steve watched him drift off until he was sure that Bucky was asleep, then taking off the light jacket he was wearing and placing it gently over Bucky's shoulders.


	7. . now playing >> when the wind blows : yoona

When they arrived in New York, it was dusk. The sky was lit up with a mixture of dusty purple and orange. Even as the sun was setting, the heat of the summer still blistered around them. Steve could see the people pouring out into the streets of the city, even though it was nearing nine on a Tuesday. 

Okoye led them all off the plane. They had landed on a helicopter pad of a building, a hotel, Steve assumed. There were no photographers, no press waiting for them there. Just them, and the entire city laid in front of them. Steve had almost forgotten the smell of New York, of cigarettes, sweat, and crappy street hot dogs. Even though he had complained about the smell for most of his time living there, it was familiar, and for a second, he was almost glad to have it back.

"Rogers!" Okoye barked, snapping Steve out of his trance. Steve blinked and followed her through a small door, finally inside the hotel.

"There will be two to a room. I have chosen roommates to keep the funny business to a minimum," Okoye said, glaring. Steve would've been laughing at the fact that Okoye just said 'funny business' had she not looked like she could kill him.

"Rogers and Barnes. Romanoff and Wilson. T'Challa is with me. You all have a dinner in two hours. Get ready. There will be press there. Clothes will be brought to your rooms. This is non-optional." 

They all nodded, slightly jet-lagged and delirious. Steve probably could’ve used a bigger heads-up, but he was too jet-lagged to care. 

“Let’s just get over with this. T’Challa, did you bring the thing I asked you to?” Natasha asked. T’Challa tossed her a box of red hair dye and shampoo, which Natasha caught promptly.

She glared at them. “Well? What are you all waiting for? I only have two hours to get my hair back to its natural color! Chop chop!”

Bucky and Steve's room was large and glamorous, with several rooms connected to each other. They all probably could've shared a single room, since the suite was so huge, but T'Challa had insisted they get their own suites.

"We're not animals," he had said.

It felt almost unreal to be back in New York. To just simply know that he was safe and didn't have to run anymore should've felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders. Instead, it just felt like more pressure. He was back in the spotlight of America, and more importantly, back in the same city as Tony.

But no, it had to be different. He wasn't going to go back to the same thing he left. He had Bucky now, and T'Challa, and Okoye. He had a piece of his old life back. That had to count for something, right?

Until then, he had only a few precious moments of being out of the spotlight. As soon as he stepped out of the hotel, his life would change drastically, once more. For now, he had to enjoy that, he thought to himself as he watched the golden sky from the balcony of his suite.

"Hey."

He turned around to see Bucky. His hair was wet from showering, and he was already semi-dressed, wrapped in colorful traditional Wakandan shawls. 

Steve nodded vaguely, leaning on the edge of the balcony. Bucky stood next to him.

"You look upset."

"I'm not. It's just...strange," Steve said. He wasn't lying. However, there was just so much more to what he was feeling that he simply didn't have enough energy to explain. Bucky seemed to understand, though. There was simply an unspoken connection between them.

"I haven't been back here, you know. Not since..." Bucky's voice trailed off. "It looks so different."

"Not even as an assassin? Do you remember?"

"No. I never did a mission back in New York. I don't know why. I know they had targets here."

"Well, I guess we'll have to show you around, then." Steve smiled softly. "Brooklyn is a rich neighborhood now, you know. I can't afford to live there."

"Do they still have our old place?"

"Yeah. It's a museum now. Some of your things are there. You could probably argue with the curator for a bit and get them back."

"Anything important?"

"Not really. Just pictures and papers and clothes and stuff. A replica of my dog tags are there. I know those were important to you."

Bucky sighed. "I wish I had kept them. The original ones, I mean. I wore them throughout the entire war, you know. And then Hydra..."

"I have yours." Steve reached into his shirt and pulled out his tags―battered and beaten, with the print barely legible, but it was there nonetheless. James Buchanan Barnes, born 1917. Bucky almost smiled when he saw them.

"After all these years?"

"Of course. Can't die if you're not wearing your own tags."

"You're an idiot, you know that, right?"

"Well, I'm still here, aren't I?"

The two stood there, watching the sun set over the city for a moment. Even though the city was never quiet, there was an odd serenity to it anyway.

"I should get ready," Steve said after a while.

”Me too,” Bucky said, adjusting his shawls over his shoulders.

They met up with Okoye, T’Challa, Sam, and Nat downstairs. Nat’s hair was back to its original shade of vibrant red, and Sam was happily running his hands through his now closely cropped hair.

”Long hair was never for me. I’m trying to get waves this time!” 

As Steve looked around, he saw Sam and Nat happier and healthier than they had been in years. Nat was wearing a long gown in her signature color—red—adorned with silver jewelry. Sam was wearing a suit with a red tie. It was strange, seeing them so formal like this. Steve had almost forgotten how they all looked when they were clean, healthy, fed, and dressed. It had been years since they had felt this safe.

"Are you all ready to go?" T'Challa asked. He, too, was dressed crisply in a black suit adorned with Wakandan shawls, but it wasn't out of the ordinary for him to be so dressed up. Steve nodded.

"Let's go."

Sam offered his arm to Natasha, but she frowned and grabbed Okoye's arm instead. Okoye reluctantly allowed it to happen, and Nat stuck her tongue out at Sam.

"Real mature, fellas. Don't do that in front of the cameras. And keep your eyes peeled. Nothing should happen, but you know...just in case," Steve said. They all nodded grimly. T'Challa led them all out of the hallway, into the elevator, and finally into the main lobby.

Steve's first instinct entering the lobby was to hide. A voice inside his head screamed at him to blend in with the crowd, make himself invisible, escape discreetly and quietly. Anything to get the attention off him. By the looks of it, Sam and Nat were thinking the same thing. Sam's eyes widened as he looked across the raging swath of humanity in front of him. Nat clenched Okoye's arm tighter. It looked as if she was fighting every bone in her body to stop herself from hiding.

Bucky was clearly suffering, too. His eyes were glassy and his face went slack when he saw just how many people were there. Between the sheer amount of people, the flashes of the cameras, and the noise of reporters everywhere, shouting every question they could think of, Bucky looked as if he was about to evaporate.

Steve took Bucky's hand, squeezing it three times. Bucky squeezed back once. 

"T'Challa? Can we get a move on? We're not doing so great," Steve muttered into T'Challa's ear.

"Quickly."

T'Challa and Okoye elbowed their way through the sea of reporters and press. Bucky's soul seemed to have left his body. He was completely disassociated. Steve dragged him through the crowd, making sure to keep him close. 

Even going outside wasn't much better. New York was never a quiet city. Still, everyone seemed to calm down after Okoye herded them all into a private limousine. 

Bucky blinked a few times. Sam let out a deep breath of air. Nat let go of Okoye.

"Damn," Sam said. "What happened to us?"

Nat rubbed her temples. "God, I can't believe myself. Is this PTSD?"

"You're just discovering that all of us are mentally fucked?" T'Challa laughed, but it wasn't funny. 

Getting to the restaurant was a little better. It was crowded, but it seemed that not a lot of press had followed them there. For a second, they were just a group of friends going out to dinner.

That was, until they were led to the table they were going to be eating at.

"Rogers?"

Tony stood up, extending his hand to Steve. He looked remarkably small in his suit, like he was drowning in cloth. Had he always been that short?

Steve was so shocked, he didn't even sit down. He didn't take Tony's hand, either, just stared at him, gaping. What was going on?

Instead, T'Challa, Sam, and Nat shook Tony's hand. Okoye and Bucky both refrained, out of courtesy.

"You brought me to see him?" Steve asked. His voice was barely audible. 

"I thought it would be good for you two to talk. As friends, not political enemies. You would have never agreed otherwise," T'Challa admitted. He then sighed. "I can take you back, if you want. But you'll have to make your way through the press again, this time by yourself."

Steve finally sat down next to Bucky. He looked down. For some reason, he couldn't seem to look Tony in the eyes.

"Hello, Steve." Tony's voice was dripping with guilt. "It's been a while, huh?"

Steve nodded. "Stark."

Sam groaned. "This is so awkward. Why'd you have to drag me here, too?"

"You haven't changed at all." Tony chuckled. "I know...things aren't great. Between us. But it's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too," Steve mumbled.

T'Challa put a hand on Steve's shoulder.

"I know this is hard for you. But imagine how much harder it is for Tony. He had to throw away his beliefs and come here to stand in front of the men who killed his parents and destroyed the Avengers, and he just apologized to you. Have some decency and be kind to him. What he's doing right now is much harder than what you have to do," he whispered.

"Gee, thanks, way to support my cause."

"I never said I supported your cause, I just thought you deserved a second chance. That's not the point."

Steve cleared his throat. "It's good to see you, too, Tony. What's happened since, well..."

"Um...well, Pepper and I got engaged. I added some people to the Avengers. I sold Stark Tower."

"You sold Stark Tower?"

"Yeah, it was like, a year ago. You didn't know?" 

Steve shook his head. "We didn't have any contact with the internet or western media in general. We didn't even think to follow American news."

"All your stuff is at the new compound, by the way. I figured you'd come back someday, so I kept your things."

"You went through my stuff?"

"Some. Not all. I didn't try to snoop, but well...I had to pack." Tony shrugged. "You never told me you were an artist, by the way."

"I'm not."

"There's an entire box filled with sketchbooks in a storage unit that would say otherwise."

"I just like to draw sometimes, that's all. I'm not an artist."

"Did you know that no one else figured that out? It's not in museums or anything. The only people who know that you like to draw are sitting at this table." Tony sighed. "I talked to the Smithsonian while you were gone, you know. They know almost nothing about you. It's strange. So many things I just picked up from working with you are things that scholars and historians have pored over for decades trying to figure out."

"I'm well aware that the Smithsonian's information isn't correct very often."

"It's not just that, Steve. It's the fact that they had no idea that Bucky was older than you by a year. They didn't know when Bucky was born. They didn't know about his family, his job, his life. He's your best friend, and they knew nothing about him." Tony said.

"I volunteered to help out. I said I'd look through your old letters and sketchbooks and anything you had that could give them some more information. I found out things..." Tony shook his head. "I learned about Bucky, who he was before the war. And I learned about your families."

"I spent so long being angry at Bucky for tearing my family away from me. The more I read about you, the more I realized that there was nothing left to tear away. My parents were related to me by blood, but we were never a family. It was just easier to blame you for me losing my family than accept that they were already lost far before you came along."

Tony waved his hand. "I guess it wasn't your fault either way. You couldn't control it. I'm sorry. For everything."

Steve and T'Challa shared a knowing look. Still, Steve said nothing. He didn't have enough information to justify it. Besides, Tony would have never believed him.

Steve sighed. "I never wanted to turn a small political disagreement into disbanding the Avengers. I never thought you were wrong, either. Dealing with Hydra gave me a strong distaste for government-controlled superheroes. The only people we can trust are our own. But I respected your opinion. The only reason I did anything was to keep Bucky safe. I'm sorry, too."

T'Challa looked satisfied. Sam and Nat seemed relieved. 

The rest of the night went smoothly. Before long, Tony and Steve were talking and bantering, just like the old days. Nat and Sam enjoyed themselves, too, and even Bucky spoke to Tony a little bit before leaving.

The city was quieter when they were finished. Their dinner had lasted until nearly 1 in the morning, which wasn't that late, but most people had cleared the streets by then. The night sky was pitch black, freckled with the lights of satellites and airplanes. Nat, Sam, and T'Challa were slightly tipsy. Okoye, Steve, and Bucky were painfully sober.

"No, no, you don't get it...it's pronounced 'ejj!' The two gs in the word 'egg' cancel out and make a j sound! It's simple math, Samothy!" Nat argued.

"That's not how it works!" T'Challa said, slurring his words a little bit.

"I think I know how it works, T-Bone!"

Okoye glanced at Sam, Nat, and T'Challa, then at Steve and Bucky. She sighed. "Do me a favor and see that they get to bed alright. I have to take care of T'Challa."

"Got it, General."

It wasn't easy work getting Nat and Sam back to the hotel safely. The car ride was fine, but sneaking them past the reporters without them knowing that they were piss drunk was certainly a difficult task. It didn't help that Bucky completely disassociated around the crowd, and Steve was left to drag the three of them past the reporters, but eventually, he managed. 

"Steve...I have something to tell you," Natasha said drunkenly as Steve forced her shoes off.

"What is it, Nat?"

"I'm a lesbian..."

"I know, Nat. Here, let me get your makeup off-"

"It's just...girls, you know?"

"Uh huh," Steve mumbled as he forcibly dragged a makeup wipe across Nat's face. "I'm leaving a barf bucket in between your beds. Use it. I don't want to make any more trouble for the hotel staff, alright? Let's go, Buck. I'm not particularly interested in seeing them throw up."

After a long silence as they walked back to their own room, Bucky finally spoke.

"I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"Everything. If I hadn't done all those things, you wouldn't've gone after me. You could've still been part of the Avengers. You could've been back with Tony."

Steve blinked a few times, stunned. "What?"

"If it weren't for me, you wouldn't've had to spend the last two years-"

"Bucky, you can't blame this on yourself. I went after you of my own accord. What happened after was my choice. I chose to go on the run. I chose to disband the Avengers. I chose to distance myself from Tony. That was all me, not you. And I don't regret a second of it. If it meant I got to see you again...it was worth it."

When they woke up the next morning, Steve was in Bucky's bed, with an arm lazily tossed over his shoulder. Neither of them spoke about it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
Read it on Quotev: https://www.quotev.com/story/12194311/The-Poet-Sings


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